


Unmatched Manners

by WeirdAlterEgo



Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dark Dick Grayson, M/M, Object Insertion, Objectification, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, unbetaed we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: He centers himself by concentrating on Bruce’s hand on his back, listening to the lazy drawl of Matches.“Listen up, boys. I need some quick cash, so I’m not gonna to beat around the bush. First buyer gets to sample the goods. Final offer.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952965
Comments: 9
Kudos: 98





	1. You've Got A Match!

**Author's Note:**

> Again, Damian is aged up. He is 16.

The plan is Dick’s. Bruce only agrees because they do not have extra time for a more elaborate one. So they bring in Tim.

***

Tim can’t see. The hood is well-constructed enough that no light reaches his eyes. It’s not clear whether Bruce intended for him to be blind, or they couldn’t make anything better in such short notice. He is also not clear why he needs an open mouth gag under the good, but it’s not like he had much time asking questions once he agreed to play the part and they spruced Tim up.

He is in threadbare jeans and a nondescript shirt, in the hood Matches claimed renders him deaf and blind. His arms are tied behind his back, expertly. There is no give to it. Bruce apparently doesn’t want Tim to be able to move.

He centers himself by concentrating on Bruce’s hand on his back, listening to the lazy drawl of Matches.

“Listen up, boys. I need some quick cash, so I’m not gonna to beat around the bush. First buyer gets to sample the goods. Final offer.”

Tim can feel the roar of the room over the roar in his own ears. Surely Bruce didn’t say what he thinks he did? Surely he wouldn’t… He couldn’t just offer…

“Does it mean we get to fuck your boy?” A rough whiskey and smoke-infused voice calls out from the crowd.

The hand on his back becomes a brand. Tim thinks of running, but he knows he can’t. Even if he remembers the way they came in, they would catch him. The door must be locked, too. He feels the shakes start up again while he listens.

“Sure it does,” Bruce says with that nasal Jersey accent. And Tim is sure it must be some ploy. They didn’t agree to this. There was no discussion. This is _madness_.

“All right, Matches, sign me up! That ass is too fine to pass up!” Comes the voice again, and there is _movement_.

Tim is effortlessly pushed against what feels like a desk of some sort, the edge biting into his stomach as that hand keeps him down. Another pair of hands undo his pants, push them off to expose him to everybody in the whole warehouse, and Tim just _can’t_.

He feels as his cheeks are pried apart, a rough finger swiping against his hole, prodding in.

Now he understands while Bruce made sure to prep him well before they left, and it horrifies him.

The finger slides into Tim’s passage effortlessly, and the man behind him chuckles and slaps at Tim’s ass. He pulls out, and slips back in what feels like three. Tim jumps, more in surprise than pain. The men watching the proceedings cheer and jeer.

Tim wants to die. He is still hoping, against all hope that Bruce and Dick will stop this, that this is all just a ploy. Any minute now he will be saved…

The hand withdraws. Tim breathes a sigh of relief when it doesn’t return. He thinks this is it, Bruce and Dick _did it_ , the cheering masses just don’t know it yet.

And then the hands spread his ass and feels the unmistakable feeling of the head of a cock prodding at his hole.

His mind shies away and switches off when he is speared with a rough push. The person behind him sets a fast pace, jarring Tim into the edge of the table again and again, until Matches speaks up.

“Hold up there friend! Mind turning him this way? There’s no reason we can’t enjoy him both!”

The fucking stops until Tim his maneuvered into Bruce’s lap. He hears a zipper, and then he hears another, and there is light as the mouth of his hood is opened enough for Bruce to feed his cock into Tim’s open and drooling mouth.

Tim thinks, detached, as the fucking starts up again and he chokes on Bruce’s thick length, that they call it spitroasting. He thinks about the sort of spectacle he makes as they both fuck into him, Bruce as Matches and the mystery gangster behind him. Tries to think up who might be behind him, while the man’s thrust get more and more brutal, until Tim is just a sleeve on Bruce’s dick instead of getting it fucked down his throat.

With a huge groan, that gets echoed around the warehouse, the man comes inside Tim. Tim can feel the hot spurts as they land in him, and wants to scream in horror. How could Bruce let anybody do Tim bare?! What… How… Why…

“Would you mind plugging my boy up?” Matches asks in a drawl as he lazily fucks up into Tim’s spread open mouth, pulling him down as he leans over Tim’s body. “I’d hate if he started dribbling all over the upholstery.”

There is a smattering of laughter and Tim is expertly plugged up and redressed while Bruce’s hammers down his throat and comes, making sure Tim sucks it all down before he dabs at the gag with his silk napkin before Tim’s hood gets zipped back up, leaving him in darkness with his horrible thoughts.

Tim’s brain is still churning with the blood tests he will need to take and possible hidey holes he could use when he gets yanked up, and away. He realizes the meeting must have been adjourned when he is led out, hand on his back until he is flush against Matches’ car.

“Would you mind coming with, to talk through the nuances of the sale? I could take you for a ride in this beauty.” Matches asks, and gets an affirmative from the man who fucked Tim.

Tim feels sweat prickle uncomfortably at the back of his neck. The sports car only has two, front seats.

He hears the doors open, and then there is shuffling. His pants are opened and pulled down across the swell of his ass. The next second, before he can get his bearings he is tugged and pushed, two pairs of hands expertly maneuvering him down to sit on a lap. The car door is closed, Tim feels the displaced air on his skin.

The man wastes no time. The plug is wrenched from Tim’s ass and a cock is fed into his unresisting hole again. And then the man does the seatbelt up, trapping Tim against him, Tim’s bound arms between their bodies. It’s a tight fit, there is no give to the belt, Tim can barely breathe, but nobody cares.

Tim hears a car door again, feels as Bruce gets into the car, hears and feels as it starts up. Bruce guns the engine, and they are moving. Probably too fast for Gotham, and Tim is terrified they will get pulled over, for he would die if he got found by the GCPD naked, bound, stomach already stuffed with come, riding the cock of a gangster while in the car with another gangster. But any sound he makes is muffled and muted. And they don't care.

It amuses the man behind him, as he starts fucking into him while Bruce apparently makes sure they go over every pothole Gotham has to offer. Tim bounces on the mystery gangster’s cock as much as the seatbelt would let him, gravity working him down again.

For the first time this night he feels himself stirring, probably conditioned to straps and slings, he thinks, disgusted with himself. At least, he is glad to note that the mere thought of all the diseases he might be catching from this man kills his burgeoning erection dead.

Until he speaks.

“Do you want to stop somewhere before the Cave so you can fuck his mouth again?” Tim hears Dick’s unmistakable voice coming from behind him, and the relief he is hit with, and then the burning anger is incredible.

Bruce doesn’t reply, but he pulls over in under a minute. Dick undoes the seatbelt and they maneuver Tim over the seats without Dick ever pulling out until the hood is off and Tim’s still-spread mouth sinks down effortlessly on Bruce’s huge length.

They fuck him, both of them fucking into him this time. Dick is not as harsh, thrusts rolling against Tim’s prostate, but Tim’s anger burns too bright to get hard. He stamps the urge down so ruthlessly he stays flaccid even when Dick’s questing fingers find him and try to work him into hardness.

Tim refuses to play along anymore.

He suffers through as both men find their release in him, Dick pumping him full with another load before plugging it all up in Tim, Bruce spilling down his throat, pulling out slowly so Tim can suck him clean before he pulls out and wipes Tim’s mouth off.

They don’t remove the gag.

Tim is redressed and seatbelted, sitting on Dick’s lap with the plug pressing maddeningly on his prostate again (damn Dick), but he can take it. Bruce’s lessons have prepared him well. His anger is like burning coals in his belly.

He sits with Dick’s hand caressing his belly under his shirt, the other massaging his limp cock until they arrive at the cave.

They finally take the gag out when they exit the car.

Tim takes a breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Both Dick and Bruce look guilty for a second, before their faces smooth out.

“That it was Dick?” Bruce asks, waits for Tim to nod. He nods empathically. “We wanted your reaction to be genuine.”

“That’s bullshit. I was bound and hooded. I couldn’t react. I was just there to _take it_. And I was terrified and horrified that you let some _diseased gangster_ fuck me. Just like that! What…” he clears his throat, horrified that he can still taste _Bruce_. “I can’t come up with a single believable reason for this. There was no reason to do that. And I refuse to do anything like this. Ever again. I want you to know and acknowledge this.”

He holds both of their gazes. He is so mad he can’t feel his terrified part of his brain that’s warbling that he cannot go against Bruce. Because this… this is too much. And he refuses to back down.

Something crosses Bruce’s face, something that’s not annoyance that’s clearly painted over Dick’s face. It might be regret, Tim’s not sure.

But he is waiting until they say they understood. However long that takes.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce tells him. “We clearly crossed a boundary, and it will not happen again.”

“Crossed a boundary?!” Tim shrieks.

“We should have clearly communicated with you about what was going to happen. This will never happen again. I promise. And I am very sorry.”

Tim holds Bruce’s gaze, which seems honest and open a moment longer.

“See that it doesn’t.” He walks to the first elevator out he can find, pace measured, even though he wants to _run_.


	2. Just Look At The Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries to uh... "fix" things.

Bruce knows he fucked up.

He never should have gone along with Dick’s plan. Or at least he should have communicated with Tim that it would be Dick fucking him. He just wanted to see what his boy would do, how deliciously he would squirm or let go as he thought some random stranger was allowed to fuck him.

In retrospect… it was a bad idea. Who knew it would help Tim find his backbone? Bruce did. But Dick wanted to see, so badly, as Tim squirmed in humiliation. And Bruce wanted to see, too.

But not anymore. Dick would be banned from sex with Tim until Bruce could fix this. Until he could cow Tim again and see that fight go out of him, until he was the obedient little boy he always had the potential to be.

He gives Dick a look, who stares at the elevator shaft Tim used to leave with an affronted frown.

“I will make sure he calms down. Do not follow me. Do not go to his room or search him out until my explicit say so.

Dick looks back at him, clearly unhappy, but unwilling to go up against him. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, snaps his mouth shut. The he gives a curt nod.

“Good. Focus on Damian, if you wish. I have to do major damage control.”

Dick runs his hands through his hair, nods. “Are the cameras working in his room?”

Bruce smirks at that. “Always.”

***

Tim is curled up in his bed, back to the door when Bruce pokes his head in.

“I don’t want to talk.” Tim snarls, like a cornered beast.

Not good. Bruce reaches deep, puts on the persona of the loving dad. Holds his black bag tighter.

“I just want to help you clean up. Make sure you feel a little better.” He closes the door and walks in softly around the bed until he can hold Tim’s angry gaze with his soft one. “Make amends as much as I can.”

Tim turns his head away, doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t tell Bruce to get lost, either. Bruce knows now is the time to push.

He sits on Tim’s bed and puts down the pack of wet wipes before he reaches for the edge of the sheet covering Tim’s form.

He is happy to note his boy is still wearing nightshirts and not boxers like he used to before Bruce started training Tim. He is also happy to see the plug winking at him from clenched buttocks. All things are going according to plan.

He starts wiping down Tim’s face and neck where he can see flakes of dried come marring the white skin, and then he moves down. He telegraphs his intention as clearly as possibly when he touches one knee, spreading those legs as far as they would go so everything is on display. And what a lovely display it is. He makes sure the hidden camera on the shelves gets an unhindered view as he starts wiping down those lovely globes and the shivering thighs, until Tim is squeaky clean… but still not interested.

That worries him, but not overly so.

“You cannot sleep with that.” He motions at the plug, for Tim is observing him with beady eyes, ready to act at the first sight of foul play. “We could do a quick enema…”

“No!” Tim jerks, legs straining in Bruce’s grip, wanting to snap closed.

Bruce gently pulls him up, props him against some pillows. “All right. No enema.”

He reaches over to the desk to root for a handful of tissues. Lays them out one after the other, folds them under Tim’s full hole, and then he pulls the plug out slowly, without fanfare.

Tim groans quietly as he empties, the tissues draining Dick’s seed, until Bruce’s check shows the flow has petered off.

He puts the soggy tissues to the side and gently rearranges a pliant if still angry and suspicious Tim on his bed. He gently presses those thighs wide open again, observing the winking, glistening hole.

“We’ll have to make sure it won’t just leak out at night,” he tells Tim as he opens his black bag and pulls out some tissues from a small plastic bag. “It might take hours for it to dribble out and you can soak your sheet and mattress.”

He balls up the first tissue, uses his thumb and index finger to spread Tim’s twitching hole and uses his other hand to stuff the first ball up as far as it would go.

Tim squirms a bit, mouth pulled down, but he doesn’t tell Bruce to stop. So far so good.

He reaches for the next tissue, balls it up and stuffs it up Tim’s hungry hole again, nudging it up and in. Checks Tim’s face, notes the slight blush that graces those lovely porcelain skin, the hooded eyes.

He reaches for the next tissue.

It takes 6 balls to fill Tim up, but he uses a seventh, the edges folded carefully. Half stays in Tim, the edges peek out, fold out like a 4-petaled flower as Tim squirms, his hole twitching, making the petals move.

Bruce looks up, sees the flush and the glazed look and smiles at the erection his boy is sporting.

“Would you allow me to relieve you?” he asks gently, all for show. He is already reaching for and touching Tim’s dick, fingers rubbing against the head, making his boy weep on both ends.

“Yes.” Tim moans and Bruce starts jacking him in a loose first, whimpers until the grip tightens, and comes fast.

Bruce uses another tissue from the plastic bag to wipe Tim’s spent little cock off, and a wet wipe to clean the come off his shivering stomach.

“Is that better?” Bruce asks then, all gentleness.

Tim nods, eyes slipping closed, curling up on his side, legs slipping closed, knees pulling up until the folded white flower of the tissue flashes at Bruce again.

And then he takes the sheet and covers Tim up like a good father, collects his things, along with the tissues, and leaves.

***

He disposes of the tissues and cleans his hands thoroughly with the special solution before he enters his study.

He sits down, gets comfortable while he boots up his laptop, opening up the video feeds from Tim’s room. (He could go back down to the cave to join his other son, but he feels no inclination to share space with Dick while they both masturbate to the same feed.)

On the screen Tim is already fidgeting, having turned from his side to his back, just like Bruce conditioned him to. Not yet awake, the boy is tenting his sheets beautifully. Bruce can see a few drops of precome have already wetted the fabric at the tip. Things are moving along beautifully, if he says so himself.

It takes minutes for Tim to wake. Bruce busies himself with unzipping his pants, pulling out his wet wipes and dribbling a little lube on his hands in anticipation. The glob is already warming up when Tim’s head pops up and the sheet is pulled off as the boy reaches for his weeping cock, eyes glazed over, face lax from sleep.

Bruce can see the white of the folded tissue paper flower as it winks and turns with each pump, glutes flexing as Tim fucks up into his hands with mindless abandon. Bruce’s rhythm matches the boy’s, for he has been hard since he pushed the first balled-up tissue laced with Ivy’s pollen up Tim's well-used passage. The spores haven’t affected Bruce, but thinking about what the boy has in store for him has.

Bruce comes neatly into a plain, non-laced tissue as he watches Tim come himself, the white flower twirling as his hole twitches madly, body taut and risen from his bed before he sinks back down, cock still in hand. The boy’s hand pumps idly as his legs starts to twitch and he squirms, heels kicking up, thighs pulling against his stomach.

For a terrified moment Bruce thinks Tim figured out the ruse, is trying to push the tissues back out, but no. The boy is just writhing, trying to reach that maddening itch, sobbing and jerking his hard cock as he stuffs two fingers up his hole alongside the tissues filling him, ruining the flower, but making the view all the more exciting for it.

Bruce rises and sets a hard pace again as he watches his littlest boy squirm and writhe and wriggle, until he has turned around, ass up in the air, head down, just as if positioned for the camera as he fucks four fingers into his needy hole, his other hand a blur on his weeping little cock.

Bruce turns on the sound and comes to those lovely little sobs and the litany of _please_ s.

***

He goes down to the cave to rejoin Dick when he can’t come any more, satisfied to see Tim is still on all fours with his fingers up his ass. From the dose on the tissues, he should be at it till early morning at least, though Tim is tiny in stature and the dose might affect him harder.

They will know in the morning, and adjust the dosage later on, he thinks as he looks Dick over.

It is no mystery what his oldest was up to down at the cave.

“What did you stuff him full with?” Dick asks right off the bat.

“Tissues laced with Ivy’s spores.”

Dick grins, wistful. “That’s hot. Did you wipe your hand before you pulled him off?”

Bruce smiles. “No.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me sneak in and finger-fuck him a little? He’s so out of it he’d never know.”

Bruce sighs. He was expecting this.

“I don’t want you to have any contact with him until I give you permission again. It is a very crucial time. If we mess it up, he will bolt.” He shushes Dick’s complaints with a hand. “He was bound to rebel at some point, but I hoped we could avoid it. Now I need to focus on leading him back to his logical thoughts on the training and making sure his boundaries are not crossed until he is well and truly broken.” He gives Dick a look, a look he should know damn well. “Until then, you are not to touch him or speak to him without my explicit permission. Understood?”

Dick sighs. “Yes. Understood.”

Bruce breathes out a sigh of relief. This night was a damn trainwreck. He did not wish to have to discipline his eldest, too.

“Good. Go play with Damian in the meantime.”

Dick gives him the side-eye.

“You know Timmy is the better toy.”

That Bruce knows.

They both look back at the batcomputer’s screen, where Tim is apparently dozing (or has fainted), flopped on his stomach, thighs spread, hand trapped underneath him, fingers still stuffed up his hole while the flower, now a little misshapen, twitches and twirls.

Damn right Tim is the best toy Bruce ever had, and he will do his utmost not to lose him.


End file.
